


Foreplay...

by Grand Buzz (quodpersortem)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Foreplay, M/M, Shameless Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 05:38:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5615854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/Grand%20Buzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...gone "bad" (or very, very well) 
            </p></blockquote>





	Foreplay...

Louis wishes Harry would keep his hands to himself for once.

Or just the one _hand_ , actually.

It’s been resting on his inner thigh all evening, hidden under the table. When he looks down, though, he sees the digits spread out, the nail of Harry’s pointer finger running along the seam of his slacks while his little finger is resting dangerously close to his crotch.

He may be 24, but there’s no way that Harry’s touch will leave him unaffected.

Harry is pretty casual about it, too. Perhaps a bit too much so, considering that they are having their Christmas dinner with their families.

It doesn’t feel like a casual touch.

It shows exactly _all_ that Harry intends to do with Louis after they leave the family dinner, and Louis hasn’t gotten off in a while because it felt bad to have a wank in his mum’s guest room. (He tried, but he could hear Fizzy and Lottie chat about the make-up they got in the room next door and— _no_ ).

Now he’s sat opposite of Gemma and he’s trying very hard to not let anything show on his face.

He’s had a couple of pints so he can pass off his flushed face on that, but Harry makes it very hard for him to stop wriggling in his seat.

His cock is half-hard with anticipation, and it’s not going down, either. Each time there’s a lull in the conversation at the table, Harry leans in.

Louis can feel his breath on his face, warm with wine and the turkey they’re having, some of his hairs tickling Louis’ skin, his fingers gripping his thigh just a little more firmly.

“C’mon, quit it,” he mutters in Harry’s general direction, which only leads Harry to slip his hand further up his thigh; his little finger brushing against the base of his cock and his balls. This time, he can’t suppress the shiver that runs through his body.

He hates that the fact anyone could notice, the sheer _inappropriateness_ of the situation, and he hates even more how much that turns him on.

“I don’t believe you,” Harry mutters, his lip brushing his earlobe. Maybe his entire body has turned into an erogenous zone; Louis can’t remember his cock ever twitching before at the touch of his ear.

“Stop,” Louis mumbles again, and he throws in a smile at Harry to convince the other people at the table they aren’t having a lover’s quarrel (or something far more filthy; he can see Doris and Ernest seated by his mum and Dan, and that’s just _such_ a wrong sight to see when he’s half-hard and getting harder).

“Love,”  Harry continues, his voice dropping a tone lower and that makes it even worse. “I remember that time you kept telling me to stop at your birthday party, and then you came in your pants.”

Louis closes his eyes at the memory. He remembers how Harry had touched him like this—and then he had gone on to cup his cock through his trousers, out of view of everyone, squeezing and rubbing and kissing his neck until Louis came in his pants. He also remembers the aftermath—how he’d smeared leftover cake on his trousers to cover up the wet spot, the embarrassment that had left him half-hard the rest of the night, the way he’d _begged_ Harry to fuck him.

“You never _really_ want me to stop,” Harry continues.

It’s true. Louis would use their safe word if he really did.

Dinner doesn’t _drag on_ , necessarily, because the conversation is good and the atmosphere better—they’re at a small restaurant that does good food, and more importantly, that knows its clientele and respects their privacy.

It does last a lot longer than Louis wants it to. It makes him feel ashamed, because he doesn’t get to spend enough time with his family as it is. Having to tell Doris, “No love, you can’t sit in Louis’ lap right now,” over dessert because he’s still struggling with his dick is the absolute low point of the night.

Towards the end of the night he’s managed to regain some sort of control, keeping his fingers entwined with Harry so they don’t start teasing him again, and he’s glad when he can kiss his mum’s cheek and bid his goodbyes.

He and Harry are leaving separately from Louis’ family—hitching a ride to their hotel with Harry’s family. It’s Robin’s offer, so he and Harry both could have a drink and Harry wouldn’t have to feel bad about ruining some taxi driver’s holidays.

In the back of the family car, Harry’s hand is back on Louis’ thigh. Louis can see Gemma raise her eyebrow on the other side of Harry, smiling a little and trying to cover it up with her hand. She says nothing; she doesn’t even elbow Harry in his side. They are both shameless about their sex lives to one another—Harry has no feelings of awkwardness when talking about boners in front of his sister and Louis hates them for that.

Robin and Anne seem to be blissfully unaware of what is going on in the back seat of their car. They’re headed for a hotel near to Harry and Louis’. They made the decision to stay in different places to decrease the odds of being found out and interrupted. Louis really, _really_ hopes no one will be coming into or leaving his and Harry’s hotel room tonight or tomorrow morning.

When they’re at the hotel, Louis has to restrain himself from pulling Harry out of the car.

“Thank you so much, loves, for taking us out tonight,” Anne smiles. “And it was wonderful to catch up with your mum, Louis.”

“It was no problem,” Louis tells her. “It was a joy to have you there, love.”

The endearment towards Harry’s mum roll off his mouth like they’re his second language, and he does love Anne, he does, but she’s about to start talking again and he’s got Harry’s hand currently casually pulling his shirt from where it was tucked into his slacks and he’s not sure how much more of this he can take.

He will either jump Harry right here, or be rude to his mum-in-law-to-be.

“Mum, Hazza and Lou haven’t seen each other in a while,” Gemma finally says, breaking through Louis’ inner and indecisive turmoil. “I’m sure they’ll text you about New Years.”

Harry already had his phone’s agenda pulled up, so he would _not_ have to text his mother about when they’ll drop by in 2016, and Louis knows he’ll be protesting Gemma if he doesn’t interfere right now.

“That is right, Gems, thank you,” he smiles at her with what he hopes is a contrite smile. Contrite, because Harry’s finger is currently pressed into the snug space between his bum cheeks, not far enough down to reach his hole but _definitely_ far enough down to be—

“Oh, of course,” Anne smiles at them. “I will see you soon, right?”

“Of course, mum,” Harry mirrors Anne’s expression, nodding enthusiastically.

They look similar in this light, and Louis is not thinking about this. Not right now.

Harry’s hand leaves his bum and he goes to hug his _mum_. Louis is going to throw up. He has to scold his boyfriend for being a dirty little pervert.

Sadly, this is also where he remembers his birthday party two years ago, and that what happened definitely was not one-sided. Harry will likely come up with a list of ways in which Louis is just as bad, if not worse than Harry.

Finally Harry manages to detangle himself from his mum, and Louis mutters, “I’ll see you later Anne, Robin. Have a good New Year’s, Gems.”

“You too, Lou,” Gemma smiles. “Love you, Haz.”

“Love you too, Gemma.”

Louis opens the car door this time, the car park at the back entrance of the hotel all but deserted. The night air is a bit nippy, though not necessarily cold enough for Christmas. Their things are already inside and normally that means he’d wait around for a bit and smoke a fag, but he knows that would signal to Harry there’s enough time to linger inside the car for prolonged goodbyes to his family.

There’s no time for smoking anyway. Not right now, when his fingers are jittery with something entirely else.

The moment Harry has left the car and waved his family good bye, Louis entwines their fingers and starts to drag Harry inside. He has the key card that will grant access to the back door ready, and Harry follows easily.

“You’re so eager, Lou,” Harry snickers.

“Shut up,” Louis mutters, grabbing a tighter hold on Harry’s hand.

He knows he’s shaking with need. His balls are aching and his vision is swimming a little because he’s _so_ focused on getting his hands on Harry.

They have booked an ordinary suite tonight, but it’s still on the fifth floor. There is no one in the lift with them but with years of media training and pap harassment he knows better than to touch Harry even in a semi-public place. The bloke watching the cameras _probably_ won’t mind, but they can’t be sure.

Harry does stand a bit closer to him, telling him, “Maybe I should eat you out tonight? Make you shower first?” It gets worse when he says, “I’m not sure, though. Can you promise me you’d not wank off?”

“Haz,” he moans eventually. He can see his reflection in the shiny lift walls; it’s obvious that his cheeks are flushed, although for anyone but him and Harry it would be difficult to say whether it’s the food and pints or the hard cock in his slacks.

Said cock, however, is pressing against the loose fabric quite clearly. Harry’s hand is on his hip, dangerously close, and Louis shivers as he tries to keep himself from pushing back into Harry’s grasp. Even restraining himself turns him on _more_ , the knowledge that soon they’ll be alone—

The lift stops, and the door opens with a _ping_.

Louis is fumbling their key card out of his pocket again as he leads the way, down the corridor and finally, finally—their room.

Harry waits patiently until Louis opens the lock and steps into the room. The moment they are both inside, he’s pulled Louis flush against him. His hips press against Louis’ backside and his hands pull at his shirt so he can press his hands to Louis’ skin.

Louis feels flustered, groaning as he can feel Harry’s cock press hot against his bum.

Harry is pushing him up against the door so there is no escape for Louis. His mouth is hot on his neck, leaving wet and sloppy kisses along his hairline before Harry bites down, sucking a love bite to his skin while his hands slip up to Louis’ nipples, rucking up his shirt.

He feels great.

God, Harry feels fantastic pressed up against Louis like this, like they’re ready to push down their trousers and shag, but Louis _has_ to kiss him.

It’s easy to push away Harry’s hands and twist around between them, looping his arms around Harry’s neck and pulling him close. Harry follows easily, his hands still on Louis’ bare sides as their lips press together; then the slick slide of his tongue that Louis has been craving all night, even during his _chocolate dessert_.

“You’re so horny, babe,” Harry mutters against his lips. “So hot.”

Louis shivers as he nods, leaning back against the door. He makes a bit of a spectacle of himself as he shrugs off his jacket and pushes his slacks down his hips so they pool around his ankles. He’s wearing blue boxer-briefs, the fabric stretches around his cock and makes the hard line of flesh stand out; it’s light enough for the precum to be obvious at the tip.

The mess of fabric and precum feels great against his cock when he trails his fingers over it, watching as Harry’s eyes follow his hand’s movements.

His cock is heavy and hot when he closes his fist over it, still bundled in his pants because—honestly, he doesn’t want to be undressing himself. Not tonight.

Harry allows Louis to indulge in his own touch for two long seconds, the time it takes for him to kick off his boots and his slacks. Louis stares unashamedly at the way Harry’s dick stands out in his pants, simple black boxers that are wholly unlike his usual underwear—but he had refused to go commando under his expensive Gucci slacks.

Louis understands.

His cock does too, in its own way. It twitches at the way Louis can still see the precise outline of Harry’s hard-on, the bulbous head, the soft swell of his balls between his legs.

And then Harry is pushing himself up against Louis, gently pushing Louis hand out of the way and substituting the pressure he was giving himself with his thigh. Louis watches the way his bulge rubs against Harry’s skin and the way more precum pulses through the already-sticky fabric.

Harry’s hands are on his bum, pulling Louis further onto Harry’s leg. He’s balanced on the balls of his feet, leaving enough leverage to ride Harry’s thigh.

“Feels so good,” he groans, the stimulation overwhelming. It’s overwhelming, the feeling unlike anything he can think of—beyond, perhaps, humping a pillow on occasion, when he is feeling particularly horny and careless.

“You _look_ good,” Harry breathes in his ear, shoving Louis back up against the door.

Louis grinds down against Harry. His breath is starting to come more quickly and the edges of his vision are blurring—but that doesn’t matter, because Harry’s right up in his face anyway, kissing down his jaw and nipping at his collarbones where he’s pulled Louis’ shirt open.

Harry’s fingers pull at the opening of Louis’ pants, wriggling the fabric between his bum cheeks so it presses against his hole and pulls on his balls. Louis starts moving his hips in more of a rolling motion in response, gasping as Harry tugs the fabric even harder.

“So desperate, Lou,” Harry mumbles, shifting his thigh a little under Louis. “You’re getting me all sticky and you’re not even naked yet.”

“God, _Harry,_ ” Louis shivers. He’d say more but he’s not sure if his tongue is capable of anything more coherent than that. Probably not.

“I’m going to fuck you next,” Harry grunts, and Louis’ hips start to stutter a little. He feels heady with the earlier alcohol and with arousal, and it seems impossible for them to make their way to the bed before Louis comes—he’s _so close_ all of a sudden, every thrust racking up his arousal further but he’s helpless in Harry’s arms, unable to move or pull back. “I’m going to finger you open, slow and steady, take my time—lick you clean of the mess in your pants, suck on your slick balls—“

It once more makes Louis hyperaware of how his cock and balls feel in his pants. He’d shaved, something he does not do very often, and it makes him feel so much more sensitive. The slick of his precum has spread down his cock, down his balls to where it wets the fabric pulled between his cheeks.

His slippery pants draw tight over the head of his cock every time he moves, and Louis’ legs are unsteady. He reaches down to pull at his underwear, gasping hard because he’s riding the edge and he wants to stave off his orgasm that’s coiling tight and hard in his belly, his balls already drawn up tight against his body.

“Are you going to cum now, Lou? Like this?” Harry licks at Louis’ earlobe after asking. “You would not, right? Not like a teen that can’t control himself?” Louis shivers, torn between nodding yes and no, and then his body makes the decision for him. Or Harry does—but Louis’ ear has never been an erogenous zone before.

His hips shudder forward once more before Louis can pull back, his cock already spitting cum into his pants. He closes his eyes, feeling the flush rise in his face as he clamps his hand over his dick. He moans helplessly when he rides out the forceful spasms of his orgasm, with his back pressed against the door and the pressure of Harry’s thigh regretfully gone from his cock.

He knows Harry sees him and he knows Harry is well aware of his orgasm, but Louis still uses a shaky hand to swipe up the trail of cum that drips from the leg hole of his pants, keeping it from sliding further down his thigh.

When he looks back up, Harry’s eyes are trained on his face and he’s panting hard. “You’re so hot, Lou, couldn’t even wait—“

Louis makes an aborted noise in the back of his throat as Harry pushes down his pants, cock jumping up against his tummy. The head of his cock is shiny with precum and swollen red, twitching when Louis reaches out to touch his finger to the slit.

Harry pushes up against Louis again, pressing his cock right against the mess of wet fabric covering Louis’ crotch.

He holds on to Harry, twitching as he tries to give Harry what he wants. Louis is feeling hypersensitive, about to crawl out of his skin because it’s pretty uncomfortable to feel Harry rub his hard-on against him like this. That doesn’t mean he’s not enjoying it. He always enjoys hearing and seeing Harry like this, his hair tickling Louis’ face as he sucks another love bite to his neck, moaning as he humps Louis’ groin.

“C’mon, Hazza,” Louis urges him on, groaning as his cock tries to harden up again, twitching feebly.

“Almost there,” Harry pants, and when Louis reaches down to stroke the soft stretch of skin right behind Harry’s balls, he cums over the already wet fabric, his thrusts spreading the stickiness to Louis’ stomach. Louis strokes Harry’s hair back and out of their sweaty faces as they both try to catch their breath.

“Bed?” Harry eventually asks.

“Definitely,” Louis nods.

-

Once in bed, Harry cleans Louis up with his mouth, Louis' half-hard cock slipping from his mouth whenever he tries to squirm away.

"I'm not  _actually_ a teenager anymore," Louis pants, grabbing at the sheets again. "I'm not going to get hard again,  _shit_ \--"

Harry covers his hand, rubbing gentle soothing motions over the soft skin and giving Louis something else to focus on beyond the overstimulation against his cock. The air is cool against it when Harry lets it fall between Louis' legs again, his entire nether region a bit sticky with Harry's saliva. 

"I know you're not a teenager," Harry mutters. "I just like doing this."

"You're disgusting."

"Only when I'm with you."

 

 


End file.
